Perhaps Halloween has melted my brain

The Ultimate Bogeyman

His face: that of my mother's second husband, Chuck. Think emaciated alcoholic with jaundiced coloring, hollow cheekbones, and ferret-esque nose and mouth. Then add a goatee and moustache for added creepiness.

His hair: Dr. Browne's ponytail days. The days when it looked like it hadn't been combed in at least two weeks. And the days when you could clearly see the natural hairline as contrasted with the implants.

His body: Much like that of my mother's third husband. He lifted weights, and he moved furniture for a living, leaving him with a physique befitting a high school football coach. (Let's add man boobs, just for fun.)

His clothing: I think a prison uniform is a good start, but not enough. (Oddly enough, that picture was found while searching for "high school football coach." I wonder if he molested one of the team members or assaulted the coach of a rival team.) Oh, and he definitely needs to add some inspiration from the slutty cowgirl movement. And just to be sure he doesn't start gnawing on himself, he needs one of those cone thingies. And definitely ruffles. Lots of ruffles.

A little bit about him: Well, Scotty (as shall be the name of the Ultimate Bogeyman) is a Leo and enjoys long walks on the beach, looking for women who are walking alone. His life goals include procreation (to call the offspring "children" might not be appropriate), obtaining a Ph.D. in Popular Culture Studies (emphasis in urban legends and modern mythology; don't worry, anyone can get a Ph.D. in Popular Culture), and ending U.S. reliance on foreign oil. He currently spends most of his time working with the Roman Catholic Church and is rumored to be the next candidate for Pope. (If you ask me, he really just wants the hat.)

With that said, I really truly wish I knew how to use photoshop. I would love to waste my entire evening mixing those images. And, no, that is not an endorsement to any of you out there who do know how to use Photoshop (and quite well) and are planning to blame the lost time on me. I refuse all responsibility. Got that? No blaming me.

Alright. Enough from me. Happy Mandy?